Last night, I was a dream bender. As I lie my knotty head to rest after long day's work, the consistency of my dreams become like putty; malleable in my fingers. A bitter ale and aroma from a forgotten herb send me off to stranger lands. The lands are strange but I am not stranded for I see my friends, a relative, and faces you always think you knew. I trudge through the scene with passive enjoyment. Forgetting as quickly as I am seeing, I pass on by.
But, what is this? An alarm in the mind triggers a sudden awareness.
What have I forgotten?
Work! I am to be at work right now. I must leave now! I must not be late.
The red panic blinds me, too dreadful to bear. In my rush to be late, my travels were blurred. I arrive at a grungy office building, looking as if End Times had seen better days. That peerful scanner still was employed and the automatic doors still slid down their tracks. I was on my way down to the basement where I worked before the clack of the doors barring nature's entry. As I descend the final steps I observe that the basement is as dilapitated as the rest of the building with rows of island-like workstations crammed with small computers. Each computer screen is eclipsed by a morbid white collar slave. I squeeze between two fellow patrons into what I presume as my station. Oddly, Keith is to my right. And an unfamiliar, but easily recognizable, black man is on my other side. 1 and 1 are not adding to 2, but rather 3. No matter, the fat is chewed just as all corporate servants jaw. In the midst of the conversation, Keith is looking more and more perplexed by my sudden appearance.
"Hey, aren't you supposed t'be on the 7th floor? When'd you get transferred?" says Keith.
"Ah, SHIT! I knew this all was too strange. I'm late again...fuck my luck!" exalted I.
A flash of khaki was all that could be seen. Flights of stairs became landing pads as I hurled myself upon them. One by one, and two by two, my destination was closer and closer. The stairwell door on the 7th floor flew open as I rushed over its threshold. A stern man in a suit tells me I am late as if I hadn't already drawn that conclusion on my own. I overcame the urge to belittle this corporate 'stooge' and placed my focus on an office I thought of as mine. Another monkey-suited man was standing in the doorway.
"You're late," he claimed.
"I noticed," I snapped.
"Go see Mr. Geronimo," he continued. "He's in his office. You know the drill."
Fucket, I thought. What can he do to me? So I started on my way to see Mr. Geronimo...in his office. Back down seven flights of stairs, out the front door, and past parking lot A (is for prime Assholes) straight on down to lot F (is for Fucktards in grey). And there he was, sitting right where we left him every night and right where we find him every morning. At his desk.
This man's desk was stationed in spot 534F in Parking Lot F of Globonomics Inc. I could see his curly head from the entrance of the lot as clear as day. In the instant I saw him, I hated him. I was not afraid of being reprimanded, rather, I became enraged at this man's very essence of being. How a monster such as he can seperate himself from the demon child he had raised from the beginning. An ego so bloated he could not fit it through the double doors of "Globber"nomics. It was in this instant that I made my decision. I was not going to speak with Mr. Geronimo. I would run.
And, so, I ran.
And ran is what I did. With all my heart. And soul. And strength. And power. A power that I did not, and maybe even could not, know I had. A power hidden in all of us. Hidden in our dreams. A power to do anything. And so I ran.
As swift as a cheetah in the midst of a hunt and as nimble as a young deer, I made my way onto an unmistakble campus. And yet, this campus seemed vague and fuzzy with the detail. Almost as if my conception of a college 'campus' was manifested rather than the actual campus I frequent.
As I exited a narrow walkway between two buildings, I bounded over the 'Earth' sculpture. My legs had been pumping pistons pulsating with bloody acid which carried me far over the landmark. I felt my right foot plant himself firm and sound upon the ground one last time before the ignition of some internal primordeal boost blasted me into the air.
I was flying. Or damn near close to flying because I did come down. But it was the highest I'd ever jumped, in dream or reality. For an instant I felt like Neo must have felt when he finally made the 'jump.' Boundless, no restrictions, free to fly. Transcending into a near-almighty state I touched down. How exalted I felt when my feet were replanted back on the concrete jungle.
In a tsunami of exhileration, overpowering thought, and engourging my feelings of inner power, I laid upon the ground much like a break dancer ready to prop himself up with only his hands. As my hands began to support my weight (at great ease), I began to literally spin my body around and around. Speed, speed, speed. It was like I was running again. Once I started I could not stop.
This would end in much the same way.
Faster and faster I spun. My legs began to 'float' in the air above me. I had an overpowering image of the propellers on helicopters and then it happened. My hands no longer were in contact with the earth. I was free.
My body still spun but I was nearly twenty feet or so in the air. A man walked by and observed with a fleeting glance. It is wonderous how much the human mind can deny in the presence of absolute truth. A proof so proven and yet so forgotten.
We have endless capabilities, but only in dreams.
